Rain Man
by plantbreath
Summary: Alternative title: Riley Joins the Illuminati. I can't tell if this story is a joke or not. I just do not know. Full summary inside


**Rain Man (aka Riley Joins the Illuminati) **

Summary: Riley, an 18 year old musician who's been working hard at his dream, has finally made it in the rap game. But what happens when Riley gets involved with a group much darker than he could have ever dreamed of? Riley finds himself sucked into a world of Sex, Drugs, Conspiracies, and Satan and struggles to determine if the money and fame he obtained was worth the price of his soul.

**Chapter One**

**A Deal with the Devil **

Riley stared, half lidded and unfocused, at the objects strewn out across the table. A hand mirror with a neat line of coke cut on it (more powder was dusting the top of the table, enough to form its own line if Riley ever got the motivation to sweep it into a pile). A gold straw, to be used with said powder. Blunts. At least five blunts, and a bong shaped like a dick. He couldn't even laugh at the Dick Bong anymore, and he had been so excited when it first got it. Now looking at his Dick Bong did nothing but depress him, remind him of the carefree and humorous life he use to live.

Sitting next to his once beloved bong, uncapped and probably piss warm by now, was a bottle of Patron. Most of the bottle was gone, but some beautiful golden liquid still sloshed around at the bottom, filling the bottle a little under a quarter of the way. Riley picked this up, squeezed his eyes shut, and downed the rest, feeling the alcohol burn his throat and make his stomach lurch. He was shaking- though that was more likely from the irresponsible amount of cocaine he has snorted up his nose.

It was 3am, and Riley was alone, although he was fairly sure there were people here earlier. Yeah, at one point the room had been filled with people- a party in full swing, filled with people he never dreamed he'd be hanging out with. Rich people, famous people, the elite. And Riley was one of them now; Riley had gained attention for his voice for hip hop and r&b when he was fifteen years old, and had since then, by some miracle, broken into the hollywood scene. It was everything he had ever dreamed of- he was making money, and a decent amount. People recognized his face simple places, like the grocery store, or at gas stations. He could turn on the radio and hear his own voice coming through the speakers. It was amazing. But greed is a powerful thing, and once you've had a little slice of something you can't help but want more. He wanted more- more money, more power, more fame. And one day someone approached him with a proposition- a promise for all of that. The devil made him a deal he couldn't refuse, and so he signed over his soul. He had no idea the downward spiral it would send him on.

His fame grew, his bank account grew, his fan base grew, but it was always at a cost. Most of the lyrics he sang now were prewritten by some unknown figurehead, pre-packed with hidden messages made to brainwash the average american listener. Music videos, which use to be so fun, were now dark, overflowing with deeper meanings and satanic symbols. His relationship with his family had suffered too- he couldn't remember the last time he spoke to either his Granddad or Huey if he tried, let alone saw them. They didn't fit into his plan, he was told. They would never bring him any benefit. He figured it was best to keep them at a safe distance anyway; he was involved with something dangerous now, and if they stood too close to the battlefield they could get hurt.

It wasn't always so bad. It wasn't always drunken and drugged out stupors, sitting on the floor of an empty mansion easily twice the size of the one he grew up in. He didn't always have the taste of bile and blood in his mouth every time Ed Wuncler's face found it's way into his mind. His Rain Man. The one who had "discovered" him, the one who had brought him into this dark underbelly of the world he had never once given any serious thought to in his life.

No, there was a time when things were good. He had fun, went to the kind of parties most people only dream of, freely experimented with drugs without having to worry about repercussions. The fame had gotten to his head and he had felt invisible. Everyone loved him. He was an idol. Even when the clothes he wore on stage got skimpier and the drugs he fueled his spirits with got harder he held his head up, just excited and overwhelmed to be where he was, not stopping to worry about the price he had paid for it all. There was a time when doing occult hand gestures in videos gave him a thrill he couldn't explain, the feeling that he was in on a big secret and they were rubbing it in everyone's faces. And it was so. He had felt like a god.

Maybe he had hit his peak too hard and too fast, but in the past few months Riley felt like he had plummeted way too far off the edge. He wanted to get out. He was scared to death, he was filled with regret over the decisions he had made, and he felt helplessly trapped, knowing there was no way out, never a way out except death. They had done it to others before him; just look at Michael Jackson. No, Riley couldn't get out no matter how hard he tried. There was no where he could go where they couldn't find him. And so the drugs turned from things to enhance the party to things to numb the pain, numb his senses, numb the thoughts going through his mind. He drank every day. He smoked a lot of spike. Did cocaine, crack, Ecstasy, ketemine, lsd, shrooms, pills, anything he could get his hands on. Anything that took the edge off.

He was alone, and there was no one who would help him.

He was trapped and he couldn't trust anyone around him.

He was hopelessly depressed and was weighing the options of just ending his own life.

He was almost out of patron.


End file.
